Elysia
by Laelia Sarai
Summary: Elysia Hughes, now 19, thinks back on her life andthe lives of her friends over the passed 15 years.


Amestris always had a way of being pretty in the mornings when it wasn't raining. It seems to rain a lot here. Even if it was a cloudy morning, it's beauty couldn't go unnoticed. Everything was fresh and covered in dew. Everything smelled wonderful. It was hard to imagine anything but perfection in those mornings.

But those mornings weren't always perfect.

My daddy was buried on a morning like that, and thinking back on it now, that just doesn't seem right. It should have been raining the day my daddy was buried. Amestris should have been crying for him.

For many years after that day, I could not stand to even glimpse a military funeral. The flag-covered coffins brought back the memory of that day, 15 years ago, now, when my daddy was put in the ground to rest forever. I can still remember that day (people tell me I have my father's memory and his ability to remember everything in exacting detail) like a record being played in my head.

Mom dressed me in a little black dress and stuck black ribbons in my hair. I remember I hated that dress. I was afraid of the dark, and that damned dress kept reminding me of it. But mom told me it was for daddy, so I dealt with it.

I remember when I first saw the flag-covered coffin with my daddy inside. I read his name on the side; his name was the first I learned to recognize on paper, even before my own. "Mommy," I remember saying, "is daddy in that box?" In my little 4-year-old mind, I laughed at myself. Of course daddy wasn't in that box, silly! But as I looked up at my mother, I saw her lip quiver before she looked at me.

I knew the truth, then. My daddy was really in that box. And now they were burying it.

Too young to understand the meaning of death, I clung to my mother's leg. I demanded the men stop burying my father. I told them he couldn't do his work if he was buried. He always had so much work to do. Mom hugged me and cried and I felt tears come to my own eyes.

"He's gone, baby."

No! What does that mean? Gone where? I want to go too! I never got a bedtime story before daddy left that night; Mommy, tell daddy to come back! Tell him he can't leave!

The service was over and I'd cried myself into a stupor; not quite awake, not quite asleep. I remember the looks my mother and I got. "Look at the poor widow and her poor daughter," those expressions said, "I wonder how they'll make it." I remember hating those looks.

Mom talked to Uncle Roy, as I affectionately called him then, before she left. His face looked different. His face looked like mom's. I'll never forget the look on his face; even then, when I was hurt, confused, and wanting nothing but a hug from my daddy, I wanted to hug Roy. I wanted to comfort him in the only way my little body knew how.

I squirmed a bit as we were leaving and my mom put me on the ground. I turned tail and ran in Roy's direction, my mom shouting my name. Roy turned to see why my mother was yelling; I saw a tear rolling down his face before he knelt down to catch me as I made a running leap and hugged him. My little arms couldn't even reach around to his back, but I hugged him as hard as I could, my own tears on my face now. He seemed to understand after awhile, because he hugged me, too. I just didn't like that look on his face.

I understand it now, that look Roy had on his face at my father's funeral. Why it echoed my mother's. As it turned out, Roy and my dad had known each other since they were 17 and 19 years old, my dad having been two years older than his best friend. They both joined the military together. This was before the Ishbal massacre, but there were still arguments, small-scale fights and 7-hour wars that needed to be fought. Back then, my daddy fought them.

It was in those lonely, scared hours, I discovered, that my dad and Roy found solace in each other. Before my dad had my mom, he had Roy. Before Roy wanted to be the Fuhrer, he wanted my mother's place. Roy had fallen in love with my father.

I remember the day I found out about that, too. Mom and Roy were talking and I had gotten home early from school, sneaking into the house to surprise my mom. I crept into the house and heard Roy speaking. He sounded guilty as he told my mother the story of his and my father's "affair." Why he kept referring to their relationship like that, now that I think back on it, I don't know. Dad hadn't met mom yet, so why all this talk of 'affairs'?

Roy stopped talking and I peeked into the room. Mom didn't look angry or upset. She just had a small, knowing smile on her face. "I'm not angry with you or Maes, Roy," Mom said, shaking her head, "I can't be angry with him or hold what he did before we were together against him. If anyone should be angry, it should be you."

Mom said Roy should hate her for taking Maes away, but Roy laughed at that. But really, it was less of a laugh and more of a dismissive wavering of his voice. "I don't blame anyone but myself for anything. I was foolish. I always did like you, though. I was happy he could have with you what he couldn't have with me. I was happy you two were happy."

From that day forward, when I was 7, Roy became an even bigger part of the family then he had been. I didn't understand why right away, I thought everyone loved my daddy. But when I did come to realize just what Roy had meant, I went and hugged him again, like I did when I was 4. And again, Roy seemed to understand. "Thank you, Elysia," he whispered, "it must be hard to accept."

It wasn't, really. I was raised as the daughter of Gracia and Maes Hughes, after all. Two of the most accepting, loving, understanding people Amestris and the world has known.

Life has been different since Roy finally became the Fuhrer two years ago. The wars that had been ongoing my whole life just… stopped. Ishballan refugees were finally given the freedom they wanted. Roy had been so sincere and so honest in his apology that even the toughest of the survivors cried. Laws were enacted especially to protect them from people who didn't share Fuhrer Roy's views on the Ishballan survivors, and slowly they became part of society again.

Riza is no longer Lieutenant Hawkeye, but General Mustang. Seems the place in Roy's heart my father had occupied was now replaced by her. I don't mean to say Roy stopped loving my father, but that was more a memory now and that love turned brotherly; like my father's feelings for Roy when he got married. They're 43 and 44 now and have only been married just over 4 years. They've got a baby coming, too, due sometime in late December. Roy jokes that he's too old for a baby, but you can tell he's excited. I'm excited for them. I've always wondered what Roy would do with a baby around. Might help him grow up a bit; even though he's the 44-year-old-youngest-Fuhrer-in-history, he still acts like he's 17.

Winry lives in Central now, too. She's the first-ever State-appointed Automail mechanic. And she does a damn good job. She and my mom, despite the 15-year age difference, are close friends, so I see her all the time. Winry still treats me like a little sister, so I act the part. I act like the curious, nosy little sister I've come to be. There was a time, though, when that wasn't a good thing.

I was only 8 when it happened. I hadn't seen Winry in a long time and she came by the house to visit. I didn't recognize her when she knocked on the door. It wasn't that she looked much different, but it was her expression.

I'd seen it before, her expression. I'd seen it on mom and Roy's faces at my dad's funeral.

I hated that expression.

She stayed with us for a long time. I heard her and my mother speaking in hushed tones many times throughout the days, but I couldn't get up the courage to ask why. Winry's face looked too sad.

My mom overheard my question when I finally got around to asking Winry what happened to make her look like that. Mom gathered me in her arms and sat next to Winry with me in her lap. "Elysia, Winry has lost a lot of people." I knew her grandmother had died a few months prior to her visit to my house, but that didn't seem to bother Winry too much. She was sad about it, very sad, but she said her grandmother had lived a good, long life and there wasn't anything left to do. But I understood loss. People asked me about my dad and I didn't want to talk about it still. I hugged Winry and left it at that.

I was 10 before I found out what really happened. I found a picture in Winry's room; she moved in with us because she didn't like being alone. Besides, mom had practically adopted her. The picture I found was of Winry with a blonde boy. She was younger, then, her hair shorter. She and the boy had their arms around each other's shoulders in a very casual, friendly way. The boy held an Automail thumbs up to the camera and Winry held a wrench, just barely in view.

Winry caught me with that picture. I apologized and attempted to leave, but she called me back. "I think you should know the truth, Elysia. You asked me before why I looked so sad." Winry pointed to the boy in the picture. "He's why."

She told me his name was Ed. Edward Elric. I remembered the name, vaguely. Dad used to talk about him. I could barely recall his voice. She told me that Ed and I shared a birthday; he was exactly 12 years older than I was. I grinned when she told me that. She said she and Ed had been friends since they were babies. She showed me a picture of them when they were little, along with Ed's younger brother, Al. I liked them from those pictures, the Elric brothers. They had nice faces. The faces of good, kind people. People like my daddy.

Then, Winry told me how Ed disappeared for 2 years. She told me how she had missed him very much, but that she knew he would come back. And he did. He came back and Winry said she'd never been so relieved in all her life. So, why the sadness, I wondered.

Winry said Ed disappeared again, and that this time he disappeared with his brother, too. She said this time, though, she knew he wasn't coming back. From the sadness in her voice and that look like my mother's on her face, I knew she and Ed were more than friends. I knew she had loved him as much as my mother loved my dad. I know now a love like that doesn't happen often.

When Roy was finally appointed Fuhrer, he asked Winry if she'd like to be a State mandated Automail mechanic. She would be giving Automail to people who needed it the most; not just soldiers, but civilians, too. She took the job without a second thought. She said it was for her love of Automail. I knew it was for Ed's memory and her love for him. She did always say that making and repairing Automail reminded her of Ed.

So now, where am I in life? I work for Roy, helping file papers and such until I can get the job I want. I'm in school now, studying hard to become a doctor. I'd seen so much pain in my 19 years, I wanted to do whatever it took to help ease it. My patchwork family; my mother, my big sister, my Uncle and my relatively-newly-appointed Aunt all support me. They all hold me up. They push me from below and my dad pulls me from above.

Roy, Riza, Winry, my mother and I all shared that look of loss when someone we loved died. Sometimes, on certain days, we still do. But together, we're healing. Roy is healing the country, and Riza has healed him. My mother and I support each other in the absence of my father, and Winry is on the right path. She's doing what she loves surrounded by people who love her. Maybe some day she'll get a miracle and Ed really will come back again. I give her that hope without feeding her lies, we all do, and she's said that that little bit of hope is healing her, too.

One day, I hope I can be as strong as she is.


End file.
